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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642752">Return it Twicefold</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spymursclause/pseuds/spymursclause'>spymursclause</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 12:48:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,130</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28642752</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spymursclause/pseuds/spymursclause</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>His cry of pain catches in throat and he looks up instead, squinting up at the sky, catches the sight of a bird soaring in the blue skies -- how wonderful would it be to be <i>free<i> like it was instead of stuck here where he hates the sun that beats down upon him -- and crashes back to earth when Javarro slams another hit into his ribs. </i></i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Return it Twicefold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>written for the <a href="https://twitter.com/fesmallwriter">Peculiarity: FE Small Writers Zine</a> in which i wrote about ares' inherent 'vantage' skill</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first strike comes at his knees and Ares goes down -- <em> how can he not, splinters digging into his skin when the wood shatters. </em> The strike second jabs into his shoulder mercilessly with the full weight of a grown man behind it. His arm goes numb and his fingers slacken, sword slipping from his hand. </p><p>His cry of pain catches in throat and he looks up instead, squinting up at the sky, catches the sight of a bird soaring in the blue skies -- how wonderful would it be to be <em> free </em>like it was instead of stuck here where he hates the sun that beats down upon him -- and crashes back to earth when Javarro slams another hit into his ribs. </p><p>“Get up.” </p><p>Maybe if he lies here long enough Javarro will let him off for the day, send him off to his tent where he can pick out the splinters one by one -- just another day of pressing a cold cloth against black and blue skin with blood stained fingertips.</p><p>“I said <em> get up </em>.” Ares set his jaw, grits in another breath when Javarro raps the same spot on his side. He exhales, rolling back onto his hands and knees, tries to get up. A kick sends him sprawling and he shuts his eyes. </p><p>Ares doesn’t say anything like <em> it hurts </em> because it’s obvious that it does, Javarro just doesn’t care. </p><p>He staggers onto his feet, clutching at his shoulder, eyes narrowed as he glares at Javarro, words bitten back bitterly. A grin sits on Javarro’s face as he laughs mockingly and it makes Ares’ blood boil. </p><p>“It hurts,” Ares finally grits out.</p><p>“Oh,” Javarro’s voice is saccharine sweet, fingers tapping against the hilt of his sword, “<em> it hurts </em>.” Scattered laughter rises from the mercenaries surrounding them. “Are you going to whine to your enemies when they hit you with a weapon with an edge that’ll slice you to the bone? Will you cry that to the god that comes to take you away when you’re lying in the dirt, your blood spilling out of you?”</p><p>Ares stays his tongue, nagging instinct telling him he shouldn’t respond. </p><p>Javarro’s voice softens minisculely when he speaks again. “No one is going to take mercy on you when you’re on the battlefield. The ones that cry over cuts and bruises die first and dead men are no use to me.” </p><p>Ares takes in a breath, hating the way he feels like his lungs are rattling inside his chest when he does. “I see.” He keeps his voice steady and bends down to pick up the sword he’d dropped early, body screaming with every move. </p><p>“Do you really now?” Ares doesn’t look up, doesn’t even bother fully straightening up even as Javarro’s boots crunch against the dirt, the man drawing closer.</p><p>“I do,” Ares murmurs, something thrumming through his veins, heart racing but he’s calm, like the pain isn’t there anymore.</p><p>He straightens out, ducking under the swing of the sword he somehow knows is coming. The blade whistles over his head and he slams his elbow into Javarro’s stomach.</p><p>Javarro wheezes.</p><p>Ares throws a punch, hears the crunch of bone under his fist and he would be lying if he weren’t <em> euphoric </em> to feel Javarro’s nose crack. </p><p>He braces himself for retaliation from Javarro himself, maybe Javarro’s angry voice telling the others to get him back but when Javarro speaks again, although nasal and pain laced, it’s almost proud. Like what Ares imagines what his father would have sounded like if he had lived.</p><p>“That’s the idea.”</p><hr/><p>It burns. Ares isn’t  sure how he keeps moving, his horse having fallen after being hit by the arrows and spells of the ambush in what feels like an eternity ago. He drags his sword through the mud, squints through the pouring rain and holds his breath like it’ll lessen the pain. </p><p>It doesn’t.</p><p>He can’t even tell who’s friend or foe at this point. </p><p>He takes that back, he can tell the swordsman that appears out of the rain is an enemy. After all, no ally would wield a sword that flashes towards his heart. </p><p>He moves without thinking, years of training drilled into him. </p><p>A swing to deflect -- he can feel reverberating through his bones, his shoulder screaming with pain and he knows by the way it’s creaking, it’s going to dislocate any moment now. When it does it’ll be over, the fight will be over and he’ll be <em> free </em>. Because he’ll be dead.</p><p>But his shoulder holds out, doesn’t pop out of the socket. His sword remains in his hand. He wonders what god is laughing at him this time -- or maybe it’s the same one as all the times before but as long as he stands he will fight.</p><p>That’s all he’s good for, that’s all he can do.</p><p>So he plunges his sword forward blindly, accuracy be damned, taking the swordsman by surprise.</p><p>
  <em> Kill them before they kill you. Hit them when they expect it the least.  </em>
</p><p>Javarro’s mantras echo in his head distantly and he roars with rage.</p><p>The first blow doesn’t strike true, Ares gets a knife in the thigh for his blunder. The blip of pain fades out, barely notable along with whatever agony the rest of his body is feeling and he knows if he were anyone else he’d go down. And stay down. But he’s not just anyone, so he swings again -- and that gets the job done. </p><p>Messy. But done. </p><p>He sinks to his knees, blinks rain, maybe tears out of his eyes. His arm has gone numb and he can barely grasp the hilt of his sword, stares down at the ground running with rusted water. He hates how it smells, how it soaks into his clothing and skin, prays once more that this is the battle that will be his last. For someone to take mercy on him and swing while he’s down, weaponless. But the gods are not so merciful. They seem to tell him -- <em> another day </em>.</p><p>“Ares!” Javarro’s voice is barely audible over the thunder that booms overhead, lightning streaking across the black sky and Ares lifts his head warily. </p><p>A hand is clasped on his shoulder and he flinches -- hates touch and Javarro knows it but he does it anyways. “Congratulations. You’re getting quite good at this, no?” Fingers dig into his shoulder and Ares holds his breath again, wondering if the thunder will obscure his scream if he lets it out and no -- it won’t so he holds it in. </p><p>He doesn’t want to be good at this, doesn’t want this anymore. He doesn’t want this life. </p><p>The fingers twist into his flesh again and he hunches over. Closes his eyes.</p><p>He can’t pick what life he wants.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>my <a href="https://twitter.com/spymursclause">twitter</a> where i am admittedly less fe these days but always around to scream about whatever fandom i am currently in</p></blockquote></div></div>
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